


Drink With Me

by denmarklovesnorway



Category: Les Miserables, Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Gen, Les Amis de l'ABC - Freeform, M/M, enjolras is angry, feuilly is also angry but less angry than anyone else, grantaire is also angry, grantaire is depressed, implied enjoltaire, it's short?? sorry pally, jehan's a poet, joly isn't straight, mentioned combeferre, north american les mis tour cast, tagged teen for the fuck word, uhhhhhh i didn't have a beta so there's probably some errors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 08:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12678165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denmarklovesnorway/pseuds/denmarklovesnorway
Summary: Grantaire, hesitant to join the Revolutionaries in the first place, has some choice words for them when they seem to be celebrating after a battle.(Based on the North American 2017 Tour's Drink With Me scene)





	Drink With Me

**Author's Note:**

> my friend and i saw the les mis tour in chicago. it was phenomenal, and the grantaire really got to me. this scene, especially, was important, which grantaire being rude and loud, taunting everyone until he was shut down.

Feuilly finished pouring wine into Jehan’s glass, and they thanked him with a soft, tired voice. He nodded kindly, before going back to his place. 

Everyone was tired, worn, exhausted. They were no longer students. They were no longer just revolutionaries. They were murderers. They had seen battle, they had lifted a gun and fired it on their fellow man. It was weighing on them. 

Nevertheless, with a heart full of compassion, Feuilly stood up and cleared his throat. The other turned to look at him, and he smiled that warm smile of his. 

“Drink with me,” he asked, raising his glass. The others did the same, “to days gone by!” He toasted. Enjolras, tired as he was, stood to clink his glass against the ginger’s. 

“Sing with me, my friends, the songs we knew,” he said again, raising his glass a second time. The boys all raised their in suit. 

“Here's to… pretty girls who went to our heads,” Jehan stood up, holding their glass to toast with Feuilly. “Who inspire us with their air of femininity.”

“Here's to witty girls who,” Joly chuckled, staring at Jehan, “went to our beds. Who blessed us there with their femininity,” he, too, tapped his glass against Feuilly’s, and then Prouvaire’s. 

“Here's to them!” Feuilly announced, his smile growing to a grin, “And here's to all of you! My friends— my brothers!” 

Grantaire, who had been silent as the dead surrounding them, scoffed. He stood up with a sneer, walking to the middle of the group, causing them to fall back into their original spots. He looked around, took a long swig of his bottle and spoke. 

“Drink with me! To days gone by!” He said grandly, raising his bottle to mimic Feuilly. No one stood to toast with him. No one repeated his actions. He hasn't expected them to. R laughed humourlessly, spinning in a circle to see every one of Les Amis de l’ABC. This godforsaken group of idiots he had gotten tangled up with. 

“Can it be, perhaps, you fear to die?” He asked in a pensive tone, stopping to stare at Jehan. They lowered their gaze, and he seemed satisfied with that. 

“I wonder,” he said loudly, turning his attention to Feuilly, seated next to Combeferre, “Will the world bother to remember you when you fall?” His voice was lowered to a hush, a taunting challenge. Feuilly leapt forward, his fisted balled, with means to hit Grantaire— he was stopped only by Combeferre and Bossuet holding him back. The lifelong-orphan lurched forwards several times, trying to push past those holding him back, but Grantaire only stood there with a smug smile on his face. 

“Could it be that, by chance, your death means nothing at all?” he turned to Enjolras now, the blond man barely lifting his head to stare at the other. He continued to now address everyone in their group, “Is your life just one more fucking lie?!” Grantaire yelled out, voice roaring between and around the Amis. 

“That's enough!” Enjolras stood up suddenly, his shout causing Grantaire to flinch. “Stop that, Grantaire, not one man here wants to hear this from you, not once. Is it not possible for you to refrain from spouting cynical bullshit at all of us? Call us idiots, call us an example of brave stupidity, as you do— but pray tell, which of us is here regardless? Which of us followed here, complains constantly, but refuses to leave?” 

Grantaire, who never truly stopped talking, was stunned into silence. Without speaking, he extended his bottle, offering it to Enjolras, staring up at the man’s eyes. Enjolras stared back at him. He blinked, then took the glass of wine Feuilly had poured for him instead. 

“To the life that used to be,” the fearless leader toasted, “May be replace it with a clear future of freedom.” His eyes landed on Grantaire once more, and then he took a drink.


End file.
